


Turning Back

by WritingEverything



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death Fix, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Gen, Goddesses, Magic, Multi, Other, Parent Death, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-01-27 17:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21396127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingEverything/pseuds/WritingEverything
Summary: “If turning back the hands of time was not enough to save his life, you must accept what came to pass was fate.”He doesn’t know if this is some byproduct as a result of using Divine Pulse, but when he wakes up that morning, his hair is blue.
Relationships: Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Turning Back

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the Golden Deer Route and Blue Lions Route! I’m just starting the Black Eagles Route right now, so this will be mainly focused on the Golden Deer House and Blue Lions House
> 
> there will be more chapters after this (hopefully if I stay motivated)!
> 
> For now, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Byleth eyes shoot open, and his hand snaps up to grasp his shirt, right over where his heart would be. His chest feels like it's on fire, an intense inferno spreading throughout his veins, which is most likely what caused him to awaken in the first place. But, as if the feeling was merely part of a dream, it disappears as quickly as it first started. He’s left with the fading burn, the heat slowly dissipating, until all he feels is cold once more. 

He looks around drowsily, blinking away the sleep that still clings to his eyes, wondering what he did last night that could've made him this exhausted, even after a night's rest. He tries to recall the events of the day as he pushes himself off the bed, one hand brushing away the few unruly, blue strands of hair that have fallen out of place in the midst of his sleep.

Blue.

He yanks his hand away, almost recoiling from it, and more of the dark navy obscures his view. His hair--it's been so long since his hair was such a shady color, so used to the pale green he sports nowadays that seeing such a change temporarily brings him into a state of shock. Though he shakes himself out of it swiftly, he dwells on it for a little longer. This must be magic of some sort-perhaps Lysithea or Lorenz had a hand in this, or Claude was up and at it with a scheme-because there is no way that something like this happened for natural reasons.

_Sothis?_ he calls out for the goddess, hoping for some input on the situation, or anything at all. He remembers something: her appearing out of the blue. His mind is rather foggy at the moment, many details missing from the memory, but he just knows for certain that Sothis is with him. So he tries again, calling out her name and awaiting an answer once more. For all he knows, she could be resting, as she was when the two of them first met. But they’re connected now, their souls merged, so Byleth thinks that she would’ve come out if she were feeling what he was feeling, too. But the room remains silent, saved for his irregular breathing. Nobody else shows up, nobody else speaks to break the quiet. It’s just him, alone.

The sudden knock on the door on his right doesn’t exactly startle him, but it very closely does. He decides to push away his jumbled thoughts for the moment, despite knowing that he will most likely be occupied for the entirety of the day, but Sothis can show up whenever she wants; it’s not like anyone can see her besides him. It’s one thought in the mess he’s manages to sort out. He’ll just have to figure everything else at a later date, he determines, and turns his attention towards the door that was slowly pushing open. Idly, he notes that the room looks strikingly familiar, but he has no time to pursue the thought as a figure steps into the room.

His heart drops.

“Hey. Time to get up,” Jeralt Reus Eisner, his _dead father_, says, and Byleth can’t help the way he just stares at the man. “Oh, you’re up already,” he comments, and it’s so, _so_ familiar Byleth feels his heart twist. “We’re you having that dream again?”

Byleth feels like his head is splitting, because _now_ his memories are returning to him, and he just remembers the way the warmth gradually faded from Jeralt’s body, how the cold seeped in, blood staining the ground beneath. It’s so confusing and scary to see someone who died in your arms, a death you remember so vividly that even the tiniest shift of expression was captured, standing right in front of you, as alive as ever. Byleth finds himself taking in every inch of his father as he can; he replaces the eyes draining of life with the vibrant honey ones he’s currently staring into. He savours this beautiful, glorious moment, because he’s scared that this is all some sort of dream, and it’s going to be ripped away from him soon. 

“Kid?” Jeralt prompts, and Byleth realizes he’s been staring for far too long to be considered normal. But then again, he wasn’t a normal kid, so he knows that his father won’t pay much mind. “Did you hear me?”

He quickly nods his head, fumbling over words in his head to think of something to say. He has the urge to get up and hug his father, but he knows that something like that would be out of the question. An action like that would warrant a huge amount of shock and suspicion, and he doesn’t want that. He wants to enjoy this dream, to live a day of normality with his father, before it’s all taken away. He has to act like he normally does—or at least, how he acted before they arrived at the monastery.

“I was dreaming about a war,” he says, which isn’t totally untrue, if you were to consider this dream as reality. It’s all slowly coming back to him—Edelgard, Dimitri, Lady Rhea, Claude and fighting Nemesis. It’s the part when him and Claude are fighting Nemesis that becomes a blur of colours and shapes in his head.

“Massive armies clashing on a vast field, right?” Jeralt guesses, and his guess is correct, though the older man wouldn’t know—or even understand—why. “There hasn’t been a battle like that in over three centuries . . .”

Something strange occurs to Byleth. Could his father have been _alive_ during that battle? It isn’t an impossible scenario, since his father has been living for quite some time. Did he fight in that battle, too?

“In any case,” his father continues to chatter on, accustomed to the one-sided conversation they usually had, “just put put that out of your mind for now. The battlefield is no place for idle thoughts.”

He barely contains the smile that threatens to pull at his face. It’s like a breath of fresh air, hearing his father talk to him again. He knows that he should he cautious, too, with no information for why this is happening other than the hypothesis that he’s asleep, but he feels like he’s soaring through the sky.

“See, you’re doing it again,” his father’s voice cuts through his mind. “Risking your life is part of the job for mercenaries like us. Letting your mind wander like that is a sure way to get yourself killed.”

Byleth nods, but then something cuts through his euphoria; this weird notion that strange sense of normality is _too_ normal. That there’s more to this. Or is it just that it’s been so long since he saw the man that his mind was causing him to misplace his emotions?

“Okay, time to get moving. Out next job is in the Kingdom. It’s far from here, so we’ll need to leave at dawn. It’s a good thing you’re already awake, everyone is already waiting for us outside.” It’s not exactly a praise, but it’s close enough, and then there’s a small smile on Jeralt’s face and it makes everything a little brighter.

But it does little to cut through suspicion that’s slowly building up in Byleth’s gut. Is everything just _too_ familiar? It’s as if he’s been through his once before. Of course, dreams are like that, he supposes. Too confusing to follow, they rip apart the line between reality and imagination, sometimes so vividly—like this one—that it leaves you spinning into nowhere. But this one feels like it’s something else entirely.

One of the mercenaries barge into the room, and Byleth is baffled on why he _knows_ this random man is a mercenary in the first place, or why he knows there are multiple others. Though, perhaps it's just dream logic to know each and every person, like they're actually apart of your life, despite the fact that they're not. Or is there another reason why he seems to recognize this person?

The mercenary and Jeralt exchange a few words, snips and pieces catching Byleth's attention (something about a group of bandits approaching the area), and then his father and the man swiftly exit the room. Byleth doesn’t even have time to ask what’s wrong, his father telling him to put on his armour before shutting the door behind him. Silence overtakes the area, and he’s given a brief moment of repose. But he doesn’t take it.

He rushes to pull his nightclothes off and to slip on his armour, because _now_ he understands the frequent familiarity of everything around him. To others, it may have been more than five years since this day, but for him, it was only a little more than a year. It all comes rushing back, so many small things about _this_ specific day, and though he still doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, the need to make it outside as fast as possible quickly bubbles inside him. He reaches for the Sword of the Creator on the bedside table—

his hand brushes against nothing.

It feels like a punch in the gut. He hesitantly brings his hand back to his side, as if waiting for the weapon to magically appear, but it doesn’t. His flexes his hands, unsure for a moment, but the reaches for one the sword hanging on the wall; it’s his old one, worn down after many years of use. It weighs next to nothing in his grip, and he twists it around to get a better feel. He can’t sense Sothis as he twiddles the weapon in his hand, but it’ll have to do for now. He slides it into the empty sheath on his side and makes his way out of the inn.

Yes, _the inn_. He remembers how they were suppose to leave for a job in the Kingdom, like Jeralt said. However, they were unable to do so, their journey disrupted by a sudden attack from a large group of bandits.

He stumbles past one of the workers in the inn as he makes his way towards the entrance, too caught up in his thoughts to offer an apology of some sort. If he remembers correctly (and for sure he does, as there was no way he would forget this day), when he leaves the building and meets back up with his father, there will be--

His eyes land on a young brunet, standing among two other people his age, and it's like a volcano of relief explodes inside him, because it's a sight he's seen for so long, something he can focus on amidst this confusing time. Granted, it's the younger version of the Almyrian, but it's still _him_ nonetheless. Byleth wanders over, hoping that his expression doesn't give anything away, and when Claude glances his way and their eyes connect, he wonders if he knows. But it's a curious glance more than anything else, as opposed to Edelgard's calculating stare.

_Edelgard_. Byleth shifts his attention to the girl. It's so unreal to look at her again, especially after everything that's happened. Nobody would've suspected this student, especially one who was to become the next empress, to turn an 180 like she did. Is she beginning to gather her troops right now, on this day he met her, or has she already gained some? He tries to suppress the memories struggling to come to mind <strike>_I wanted to walk with you_</strike>, because he has to act natural. Dream or not, he doesn't want to turn onto a different path.

He slows his pace to a stop beside his father, just as a mercenary comes forth and reports that the bandits have been spotted just outside the village. Dimitri <strike>_they all stabbed him_</strike> shifts his gaze towards him for a moment, and now Byleth can catch the darkness lurking beneath it, before turning it away.

"I guess they followed you all the way here. We can't abandon this village now," Jeralt says, and there's something accusatory in his tone during that first line. "Come on, let's move," he tells the other mercenaries, before peering over his shoulder at Byleth and saying, "Hope you're ready."

He nods, because he _is_ ready, without a doubt, and as they begin to draw their weapons, he can already sense the presence of the enemies approaching. He unsheathes his sword, and Dimitri steps in line beside him, spear ready, while Edelgard flanks his left. He doesn’t have to look back to know that Claude and his father are staying behind him.

He waits until the bandits approach the gates, and doesn’t wait for a signal; his father trusts him enough in the field to let him go off on his own, surprisingly. He rushes to meet the enemies head on, one swipe sending two men crashing to the ground. His strength was preserved, allowing him to make quick work of the enemy, and he thinks he can feel the strain and soreness left behind from fighting Nemesis, oddly enough.

"You have a strange aura about you," Edelgard comments, catching up from behind you, and for a moment, he wonders if she remembers anything. Her words would certainly make sense if she did. She strikes down a bandit coming from the left as she says, "You say you're a mercenary, and I can see that much to be true. Show me what else you can do."

He wants to move away from her, to get back into the swing of the fight, because he doesn't feel that being near her at this moment—when he as a weapon—would be beneficial to either of them. But he offers her a brief nod in response, and they split in different directions to cover more space. He doesn't think she knows anything about his predicament.

Two men, one armed with an axe, the other with a sword. Byleth attacks the swordsmen first, steps to the left to avoid a blow from the sharp blade, and takes the man down in a matter of seconds; disarms the man, and impales his weapon dead in the center of his chest. He senses the axe-wielder coming up behind him and he turns, sword ready, but an arrow soars overhead and pierces through the man's head. Byleth spins around to see Claude, bow still lifted up and hand in the same position when he let the arrow go, grinning. He gets to his feet and reaches for another arrow behind him.

"It's because of you guys that I'm not dead right now, so I gotta return the favour, right?" Claude quips, and Byleth has to fight to keep his expression neutral. "I didn't expect to run into mercenaries like you in some remote village. The gods of fortune must be smiling on me!" It's ironic, how Claude talks about gods but doesn't really believe in them himself.

He doesn't have any bad memories with Claude, compared to the other two house leaders. If anything, he wishes he could open his mouth and just speak to the other man, but he can't, because this is _then_. Not _now_. Fortunately, he doesn't get the chance to, as more bandits begin to head their way. Claude loads his arrow, stepping back to gain some space, while Byleth moves forward to meet the enemy.

Jeralt calls out to him, telling him to make use of the surrounding terrain. He dutifully follows the command, crouching behind a few bushes, waiting for the bandits to come into range. A certain blond appears to his right, copying his movement and staying low behind the plant.

"This may not be the most appropriate time for such a thing, but thank you," Dimitri, as formal and polite as ever, says. "We are in your debt. It wouldn't do for us to fall in a place like this. Please, lend us your strength! Let's work together to drive out these thieves!"

It’s quite . . . _astonishing_ to see the three house leaders together, fighting alongside one another without such a chasm between them, built up of years of lies, conflict, and the need for revenge. Dimitri leaps out of hiding as Edelgard strikes a bandit in the leg, and the prince follows up with an attack that leaves the enemy crumpling to the ground. Byleth can clearly _see_ the difference, even from a mile away.

Jeralt’s horse dashes ahead of Byleth, exchanging meaningless words with the bandits’ leader, before knocking the man off his feet. The three house leaders are making quick work of the remaining enemies. Byleth remembers what happens next, so he keeps his grip on his weapon and waits.

The bandit leader, fazed by the attack but still able to move, pushes himself back to his feet. His face is a mask of unbridled rage, distraught over his loss and terrible luck, and now he’s charging towards Edelgard.

Byleth begins to move, intending to push the girl out of the way and block, but he pauses mid-step. It’s as if time’s slowing down as Edelgard whips out a small blade, carefully aiming it at the approaching enemy. He knows what he has to do—what he’s done _before_—but his legs refuse to move.

What if he didn’t move? If he didn’t step in front to block the attack? What if he just . . . let the man attack Edelgard? If he just, doesn’t _move_, and something happens to her . . .

He thinks about his father, about the five years of war throughout Fódlan, about the people who didn’t get the chance to see the end of all the fighting. He looks at Edelgard, trying to vision the future empress, of all the things she left behind in the wake of pursuing her personal beliefs, but all he sees is one of his students.

He’s too late, he can’t push her out of the way and successfully block the axe afterwards, but he forces himself to move anyways, shoving the girl out of the way, and the axe embeds itself into his chest, striking and cutting through his armour, and it’s like hot, molten lava is exploding throughout his body.

Then everything stops.

It’s quiet, too quiet for it to be death, and he knows what’s happening but it still shocks him into silence. He opens his eyes—since when did he close them—but it’s not that much different; everywhere is pitch black, but the darkness lets up when he glanced in a certain direction.

“Honestly! What are you accomplishing with that stunt?! It’s like you’re trying to get me killed, you fool!”

He turns around, his eyes landing on the goddess, and the everything seems to get a little brighter.

"Sothis,” he says, voices breathless, like he just ran a marathon. He doesn’t know why he’s breathing so heavily, but seeing her gives them hope, because out of all people, she will know what’s going on. Or perhaps he’s just happy to see her, after her long absence in his life.

“Yes, you can call me Sothis, but I am also known as _ The Beginning _.” Sothis opens her mouth to say more, but no words come out. Instead, her expression shifts into something disbelieving, caution creeping into the edges. “Sothis . . . yes, that is it. My name is Sothis, but how . . . did you know my name?”

"Do you remember me?" he ignores her question in favour of asking his own. It seems that Sothis is as clueless as she was when they first met, and it lights up a match of panic in his chest, because if _she_ doesn't have an idea of what's going on, then . . .

"Hmm," the goddess hums, shutting her eyes, eyebrows narrowed, "how odd. It appears you have gotten yourself into quite the predicament. How rude of you to drag me into this!" She opens her eyes, and they are alight with mischief, but Byleth isn't so sure what to say yet.

"Ugh, do not look at me like that!" Sothis snaps, suddenly impatient, and she begins to walk down the steps from her sizeable throne. "Of course I remember everything! I am apart of you, after all. Such a fight with the King of Liberation wouldn't fly from my memories so easily, either."

"Do you know what's happening?" he questions, and the shake of the head he receives dampens his hope considerably. He thought that such an unearthly being such as herself would be able to do something, or have an idea as to what was going on.

"This is a different power than turning back the hands of time," she tells him as she finally makes it down the staircase. "I believe this to be the cause of a second party's doing. But to land such far back . . . it is quite troublesome."

"What do we do now?"

"What do we do?" she parrots, and she shuts her eyes, thinking once more. "Well, what else _is_ there to do? We must continue on while searching for that answers that we seek. You must turn back the hands of time to save that girl, _Edelgard_." At the mention of her name, Sothis' gaze turns conflicted, and Byleth remembers what he has to do.

"We don't have to save her," he points out, looking away to avoid the look Sothis shoots him. "If we let her _die_ here-" the word sends a strike of pain through his heart, "-then there would be no war."

"You fool, we have no right to change what has already come to pass as fate! We must accept it, and move on."

_ <strike>“If turning back the hands of time was not enough to save his life, you must accept what came to pass was fate.”</strike> _

She goes quiet at the look on Byleth's face, and she must be thinking the same thing, too. It takes a second before she utters softly, "but if you wish to do so, I will not stop you." That causes his neutral expression to break out into one of surprise, and he whips his head to stare at the goddess. "However, if I recognize that you cannot change the circumstances of what has happened, then you must stop and continue on."

Byleth just nods.

"Now go."

The area lights up in a yellow glow, before his vision is engulfed by darkness once more. He barely registers the pain in his chest, cutting through his flesh, disappearing in a flash. The world passes by in a whirlwind of colours, shifting back and back, and when Byleth opens his eyes, he's standing a few meters away from Edelgard, and the bandit leader is still on the ground.

He stumbles to his knees, clenching the part of his armour behind his shoulder, but not because of any lingering pain he felt when the axe cut into his back. It's incredibly dangerous to drop your guard like this in a battlefield, letting yourself show weakness, but he knows that there is no enemies behind him, only the ones to his left.

He watches the bandit leader jump back to his feet, and charge at Edelgard.

Time slows down once more as he stares. The young girl whips out her blade, preparing herself as the man approaches.

Byleth doesn't exactly remember what happens next-perhaps her closed his eyes out of reluctance of seeing what comes next-but when he pries them back open, Edelgard is laying on the ground, writhing around, the weapon lodge into her stomach and part of her breast. There's blood, _so much blood_, pouring out of her and staining the earth beneath. He thinks he can hear her screaming, but there's this ringing in his ear, blocking out everything around him.

He grabs his sword, stumbling back to his feet, and dashes towards the leader.

He doesn't know why he's moving, why there's this sudden rage burning throughout his whole body, because that girl is responsible for so much chaos and destruction throughout Fódlan. But when he looks at her, he just sees a young woman, one of his _students_, and he just remembers all of those he taught in the past that he had to strike down in battle. He remembers being the one to raise his sword, the one to put Edelgard out of commission, and just watching this now . . .

The bandit leader notices him approaching and yanks his weapon _out of Edelgard's body_, ready to strike back. The girl stops moving, and that's the final straw.

He blanks out, but when he comes to, the leader is dead at his feet, head severed from his body, and the rest of the bandits are in similar shape; all in states of dismemberment, red soaking their clothes, and none of them move an inch. The air is tinged with that familiar copper smell.

"Hey-_Edelgard!"_

Byleth steps back, and Claude and Dimitri come into view. The Golden Deer House leader rushes over to Edelgard's side, setting down his bow in favour of rummaging through his pockets--herbs, healing solutions--while the Blue Lions leader steps towards Byleth. Byleth never thought he would ever be on the receiving end of the blond's wrath for a second time, but the unbridled fury etched into his face says otherwise.

"_You_," Dimitri hisses, "how _dare_ you let this happen!"

Claude calls for Dimitri to stop, to come and help, and the blond reluctantly pulls himself away from Byleth. The two house leaders crowd around Edelgard_<strike>'</strike>_<strike>s body</strike>, and Byleth finds himself staggering back, bumping against someone else. He immediately recognizes the person as Jeralt, but he can't find the strength to turn around and check to be certain.

"Dear goddess," Jeralt curses, saving Byleth the trouble of having to figure out his identity. "Shit, that girl . . ."

Byleth hears someone, sees someone appear on the scene--Alois, it's _Alois_\--and he doesn't think he can bear to see the look on the knight's face when he sees one of his students like this, so he turns around and leaves the area, as if doing so will lessen the blow of agony to his entire being. But it doesn't. It just gets worse as he thinks about all he's turning his back against. He thinks about turning back the hands of time, if only to never have to see the aftermath and those affected by this.

If he hadn't saved her that first time, she would've died. One death in exchange for the life of millions.

He thinks he hears his father calling out for him, but he doesn't listen.

He's already made his choice.

The day passes by in a blur.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh, it’s too descriptive, and that’s why it’s really badd
> 
> well, I still hope you enjoyed! feedback is appreciated!!


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